


The Song Remains the Same

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 20:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same - including Emma’s teenage crush on Killian Jones. Will she finally work up the nerve to act on it at their ten year high school reunion?





	The Song Remains the Same

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited to share my contribution to the CS September Sunshine event! I hope you like it.
> 
> Weirdly enough, this was inspired by my frustration that (bear with me, guys) the music episode of CNN's 2000s documentary didn't mention that pop-punk phase we all went through around 2008. Blasphemy. Somehow this grew out of it? Mostly so I could include slow dancing to Paramore.
> 
> Song title apparently taken from a Led Zeppelin song, which I wasn't aware of when I suggested it. Rated T for language. Super kudos to @snidgetsafan for her beta skills!
> 
> Enjoy!

Gymnasium 2 of Storybrooke High - the larger of their sports facilities, as any alumnus knows - hasn’t changed a bit in ten years.

Emma remembers the way it looked at the one homecoming dance she’d attended - blue and gold streamers everywhere, with a balloon arch behind the DJ and another against a sloppily-curtained wall for formal photos. The gym today is much the same - all that’s been added are the buffet and a collection of tables where people can eat. The same people who couldn’t be trusted with food in the gym ten years ago maybe shouldn’t be trusted to have gained that maturity now, but Emma’s not one to argue against hors d'oeuvres. It’s odd, in a way, that she’d expect it to change. This is Storybrooke, after all; they thrive on that vague air of nostalgia, and most of the town hasn’t been updated since the 80s. Hell, the local diner will abandon their 50s soda shoppe aesthetic when hell itself freezes over, and maybe not even then. But in the ten years since Emma’s left town, she’s changed in such foundational ways that it’s jarring to discover that it’s not the case everywhere.

There can be a comfort to the sameness, too. Emma has a kid, now, and there’s an appeal to raising him in a place where the whole town is your neighbor and neighbors look out for each other. Plus, the closest thing she has to family lives here. As much as Emma had wanted to get out and see the world when she was 18, there’s a point where you just want to come home. Home for Emma has been Ruth and David and Mary Margaret, and home for them has been Storybrooke. Maybe it’s about time Emma makes it her home too - if not for her own sake, then for Henry’s.

The nostalgia oozing from every inch of the gymnasium isn’t the reassuring kind of sameness, unfortunately, probably because Emma never felt comfortable here in the first place. Years in the system left Emma struggling to fit in and really find her place at school, emotionally and socially, even after the Nolans had taken her in for good. It had been hard enough to open herself up to Ruby and Mary Margaret and her adoptive family; anything more than that was a stretch too far, and Emma never really bonded with her classmates. All those streamer-festooned walls don’t hold any sentimental value for her, even if this was the school she graduated from. All things considered, it seems pretty stupid to be showing up to this ten-year reunion at all.

Mary Margaret had decorated the walls, though, had sent out invitations and implored Emma to attend. Mary Margaret, who had been Emma’s first real friend, and is still her best friend in the world. And even after all these years -  _ especially  _ after all these years - Emma can’t say no to that earnest pleading. 

So she’d left her three year old with Ruth for the night, wiggled into one of the more tasteful of her honeytrap dresses, and set out to her ten-year high school reunion. The last place she wants to be.

There’s already a good crowd here, mingling around as Lady Gaga blares in the background like no time has passed at all - which doesn’t help Emma’s nerves in the least. The people, not the music. The faces are still recognizable, even if ten years have passed and left their mark. Ashley and Sean are over by the buffet, apparently still together; if Emma remembers what she’s heard from Mary Margaret, they’ve got a couple of kids now. Kris and his wife are over talking to Victor, who hopefully hasn’t just come from the hospital. Aurora’s still got that unpleasant look on her face, though her boyfriend or husband or whatever else seems friendly enough. Hell, even Will Scarlet has somehow managed to clean up well in a dress shirt and tie, holding hands with a beautiful brunette with a ring as he points out something on the photo slideshow. Who’d have thought their resident troublemaker capable of such a domestic display. 

With the exception of Ruby, who Emma knows will be running late out of long-ingrained habit, it seems like the gang’s all here. As Emma scans the room, there’s only one obvious character missing from the bunch; somewhere around here should be blue eyes and dark hair and a smile that —

“Fancy meeting you here, Swan.”

— looks exactly as she remembers. It starts out as a smirk when Emma first whips around to face the man who’d whispered in her ear, but it softens into something more genuine as she laughs - almost like that’s the exact sound he’d been waiting for. Just like always.

As it turns out, that’s another thing that hasn’t changed in ten years: her hopeless crush on Killian Jones.

He’d been handsome, even in high school, with all that dark hair and his confident swagger. He’d earned that confidence too, as captain of the speech team and a champion swimmer. Somehow, even if it had made him cocky, he had still been kind, and it was that kindness that had attracted Emma in the first place - the way he’d always been happy to smile and help her in math class, even though he didn’t have to. Emma wasn’t used to that; it was its own kind of intoxicating.

He’s just as handsome now, and if that smile she’s so loved is any indication, just as kind. He’d joined the Navy after graduation, Emma knows, and it had obviously done him good, filling him out in all the right ways. The trim fitted suit is new too; probably a good thing too, as the cut of those pants would have driven Emma to distraction back in high school. Otherwise, he’s almost just the same as always; if it wasn’t for the prosthetic peeking out of his sleeve where a left hand should be, the Killian in front of her now could be mistaken for a blast from the past. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Emma grins back at him. 

“I might say the same thing,” he quips. “After all, I live here now. You’re the one who had to drive in.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I absolutely am not,” Killian confirms with a laugh. “Just finished up my first year of teaching at good old Storybrooke High. American History. Go Knights.”

“Damn. Well, congrats, I bet you’re great.” Weirdly enough, Emma really can picture him as a history teacher. It was always his best subject, and she’d be willing to bet he’s one of the cool teachers all the kids love.

“I do my best,” he shrugs modestly. It’s a new look on the cocky, smooth-talking Killian Jones she used to know, and not a bad one. It makes him seem… adult. Like he’s got his ducks in a row now in a way neither of them were capable of when they were young. She almost misses his next question considering it. “I seem to remember David mentioning that you live in Boston these days?”

That snaps her back. “Yeah, Boston. I work in bail bonds there. Though lately…”

“You’re thinking about moving back?” he finishes. At Emma’s puzzled look, he continues. “Like I said, your brother mentioned it. He’s a bit of a gossip, I’ve rediscovered.”

Ah, of course. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“Well, if you end up deciding to come home… let me know. I’d be happy to see your face around these streets again.” He even smiles like he means it. It’s a nice surprise again; Killian Jones is just full of those today. She’d thought that there would only be a handful of people who’d be happy to see her - David and Ruth, Mary Margaret, Ruby and Granny - but maybe there’s some others, too. For whatever reason, Killian seems to be counting himself among them.

“Thanks,” she finally replies, somewhat awkwardly. What are you supposed to say to such an unexpected, purely kind thing, after all? It’s just the kind of thing the boy she remembered would have said - though she has to wonder if that’s a true memory, or something she inflated from her own childish crush and even more childish tendency to latch onto even the smallest kindness in the way only those starved for affection do. “I’ll make sure to do that. I’ll let you go mingle or whatever, but I’ll, uh… I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely, Swan,” he winks. Or tries to, in the same way he’s apparently never learned how. “Save a dance for me?”

Dancing has never been her strong suit, but weirdly enough - or perhaps, not weirdly at all, considering who made the offer - Emma finds herself wanting that too, finds herself agreeing. “Sure,” she shrugs, making her best display of nonchalance even if her pulse has picked up at the very prospect. “I’ll catch you later.”

What harm could it do? After all, it’s just one dance.

———

It’s weird how time can change people, or at least change her perceptions of them, Emma notes. With some notable exceptions - Aurora Stephenson, now… whatever the hell her last name is, who will probably never grow out of her tendency to look down her nose at everyone and everything - most of the people she graduated with have turned into more adult versions of themselves, whether that means happier or more responsible or just more tired. It’s refreshing to see in a room otherwise so mired in the past, from the decor to the never-ending 2010-era playlist constantly piped overhead. Emma’s a little worried she’ll hear Fall Out Boy’s entire discography before the night is over - weird, considering she’d never have pegged Mary Margaret for a fan. 

But Scarlet turns out to be funny now that he’s dropped the class clown screwup act, and Ashley is actually sweet now that she’s allowed to be more than just a mouse under her stepmother’s thumb. Her older child is about Henry’s age, a little girl named Alexandra, and it’s a comfort that Emma never knew she was denying herself just to have someone else to talk to about all the trials and tribulations of toddlerhood with. She’s never been one of those mothers, but she’s never had anyone she could be one with, either. Mary Margaret and David have only recently announced that they’re expecting a baby, and Emma’s been somewhat isolated in Boston for a long time. But if she ends up returning to Storybrooke… it’d be nice, already knowing Henry has a playmate. Maybe they can set something up for before they return to Boston.

Still, as much as Emma’s enjoying herself - against her will, really - there reaches a point where she needs to get away from it all. By some miracle she’s never sure she’ll deserve, Henry calls to say goodnight just when she’s becoming too overwhelmed. There’s been a pair of picnic tables just outside of the gym for as long as Emma’s been here to see them - much longer, she’d bet, if she knows anything about Storybrooke - and it’s another thing that hasn’t changed in all this time, the tables appearing to have been replaced sometime in the past decade and then positioned in the exact same place as before. It’s the perfect place to take the call and collect her thoughts again - close enough to still hear the music faintly (Panic! at the Disco now, because none of them have actually grown out of their teenage taste in music apparently) without it overwhelming her senses.

Nothing’s the matter, of course - just some three year old affection. It doesn’t stop Emma from seizing the opportunity to take a moment for herself. It’s been a long time since she’s spent this much time with this many adults in a situation where she’s expected to actually  _ interact _ ; after almost four years of cartoons and make-believe and bedtime stories, it’s a little taxing. In a good way, she thinks, or at least not a bad one.

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice calls. Killian again. He’s everywhere tonight - the man himself before her eyes as he settles onto the bench beside her, back braced against the wooden tabletop, and memories of their time in school embedded in every wall.

“Did Mary Margaret send you?” Emma asks. It would be perfectly in character - Emma’s sister-in-law trying to make sure that she’s socializing properly.

Killian shakes his head though. “No, I just needed a bit of air. Victor’s trying to break out some of his old dance moves, which is just as scarring as ever, so I figured that was my cue to step out for a moment. Noticed you were missing too, figured that maybe you had the same idea.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughs. “I mean, I can’t blame you for avoiding that nightmare. But no, I, uh… I had to take a call.” 

“Ah. Yeah, no, you definitely couldn’t manage that inside.”

Oddly enough, Emma feels the urge to open up to Killian, to tell him about Henry. It’s not something she does, typically; after so long searching for a family of her own, she still finds it hard sometimes to share Henry with others, even if it’s just bragging. She’d never keep him from making friends, of course - she’s not  _ that  _ kind of overprotective mother, and besides, his time at daycare has shown that the kid is unstoppably friendly - but in her own life, she keeps him to herself. Minimal talk with her coworkers. No mention at all to strangers, not even the vaguest reference.

But then again, Killian isn’t really a stranger, is he? Even after all this time, Emma’s instincts still say she can trust him. He’s never been anything but kind and generous. 

“I’ve, uh… I ‘ve got a son,” she offers, with a weak smile. “Henry. He’ll be four in August. Pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? He’s just… the best. So, yeah, I came out here because he called to say goodnight.”

“He seems like a lovely boy,” Killian replies, something fond tinging his tone. The familiarity of it alarms Emma, and makes her eyes widen. To his credit, Killian seems to notice it right away, his brows furrowing into a frown. “Oh, now that sounded a bit creepy, didn’t it?” he asks. “It’s much less concerning than anything you’re thinking, Swan, I promise. Mrs. Nolan has an endearing habit of showing off any and all new photos of the lad she gets her hands on when she comes into Granny’s in the morning. A proud grandmother, that one, not that I can blame her if your boy is even half as bright and curious and sweet as she claims.”

That… makes sense. Even if it means Emma maybe needs to invest in muzzles for her entire family at the rate they’re blabbing her business around town. “Sorry if I looked like I was about to clock you,” she admits sheepishly. “It’s just… he’s everything. I worry.”

“I think that’s your prerogative as his mother,” Killian laughs good-naturedly. At least he’s not holding that little freak out against her.

Things fall into silence. Somehow, the quiet is more intimate than any conversation, almost cloyingly so. It keeps both of them from looking at each other, both turning towards the stars instead as P!nk blares distantly in the background. God, the last time Emma actually took a moment to look at the stars was probably in high school.

Killian, of course, is the one to break the quiet. He always was bolder than her. “Is the little lad with his father tonight, then?” He asks, almost too casually. Like he might care more about the answer than he wants to admit. Emma can’t imagine why.

“No,” she replies on a snort. “He wasn’t exactly interested in sticking around, for better or worse.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian murmurs. “It’s his loss.”

“It really is. Henry’s a great kid. It was hard at the time, though. I felt like I had found someone who really loved me and wanted me, but that obviously wasn’t the case. Should have known it was too good to be true.”

“You can’t possibly think this is your fault,” Killian prods, concern cooling his voice. 

Emma shrugs. “I mean, I know that it was up to him. I didn’t force him out the door or anything. But at the same time… I know I’m difficult to love.” She tries to keep her voice nonchalant, but isn’t entirely convinced that it worked. That’s the problem with admitting one of your deepest fears.

“That’s not true,” Killian chides back gently

“Yeah, well, it sure seems like it a lot of the time. I don’t have much evidence to the contrary.”

The silence this time is almost anticipatory, somehow. Emma finds herself practically holding her breath as she waits for what’s next.

“You know, I had the biggest crush on you back in school,” Killian finally says, almost absentmindedly, still gazing up at the sky instead of at Emma.

“You did not.” It’s not one of her better responses, but it’s her gut response all the same. There’s no way - absolutely no way that Killian Jones,  _ the  _ Killian Jones of Storybrooke High, had a thing for her back when they were both still teenagers. 

“Aye, I did,” he chuckles. She’d almost call it fond, if she didn’t know better. Fond is too big a stretch for someone you haven’t seen in ten years.

“I can’t imagine why.”

Killian stares at her blankly for a moment, like the words don’t process. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“Look, I was a mess in high school —”

“You were lovely, even then,” he interrupts. “Maybe that sounds a little cliche, but you were. To me, if no one else. There was so much drama and bullshit going on in high school, but somehow, in the middle of all that, you seemed like you couldn’t give less of a fuck about the whole thing. You were strong, and fierce, and… I guess I had a thing for that kind of attitude back then. Still do, really.”

Honestly, Emma doesn’t even know how to take that - any of that. Especially not that last bit. She’s just not equipped to process it. But at the same time… she owes it to herself to try. Both of them, really, and her past self to boot. He wasn’t the only one with a crush, after all. As much as it terrifies Emma to think that just maybe, after all this time, he might still think she’s lovely and fierce, it’s exhilarating at the same time. With that in mind, Emma takes a deep breath and forces herself to respond.

“Maybe you should have done something about that,” she replies with butterflies swarming in her stomach like she’s still a nervous high schooler. 

For what it’s worth, Killian looks a little stunned. “I’m sorry?”

“I kind of had a thing for you too,” Emma confides. “You were kind of a dreamboat, you know.”

“ _ Were _ ?”

“Oh, don’t get cocky on me,” she laughs. “But yeah. If you had asked… I probably would have said yes. Almost definitely, actually.” It’s hard to say that she’d change things, if given the chance; after all, the path that took her here gave her Henry. But she still can’t help but wonder what might have been. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t, then.” His voice is almost wistful, longing for something he’ll never grasp. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Not brave enough.” Emma waves a hand casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, despite remembering all the emotional turmoil of that same subject back in high school. “Plus, it seemed like you had a thing going with Tink half the time - which, trust me, I know sounds ridiculous now that she’s shown up to this with a girlfriend. Still.”

“Aye, that’d do it,” Killian laughs. “We’ve always been just close friends, though. For what it’s worth.”

“I know.”

The anticipatory silence is back, and this time, Emma knows what it’s waiting for. In any cheesy movie, this would be the moment they kissed, two former somethings reunited under the stars. She’s not ready for that, though - not with the pain of her last relationship’s abrupt dissolution still hanging over her head, just reinforcing all her concerns about abandonment. She’s already used up her bold quota for the day.

Quickly, she breezes past it to a new subject. “So what are you doing back here, anyways? I thought you were off to the Navy, gonna see the world.”

She regrets it as soon as she asks as Killian’s whole body suddenly seizes with tension. 

“I was,” he says carefully. “I did. I was going to. But for better or worse, the Navy doesn’t have much use for a man with one hand.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask, wasn’t it?”

Killian sighs. “No, it’s fine. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it, it’s still just a subject I’m a bit touchy about.”

“I’m sure,” Emma murmurs. It’s hard to toe the line between wanting to seem sympathetic and coming off as prying.

“Before you ask, it was a car accident. Not at all related to my service,” Killian explains, seemingly seeing the hesitance in her eyes. “Someone ran a red light, and that was that. So I took advantage of servicemember scholarships to go to school instead, and six years later, here I am. It’s hard to claim that it’s all worked out for the best, considering I’m missing a pretty crucial limb, but I’m happy with where I’m at.”

“I was just thinking earlier, I bet you’re a great teacher,” Emma contributes. “One of the fun ones, but who still knows what they’re talking about and holds the kids accountable.”

It turns out, Killian still scratches at his ear when he’s embarrassed, just the way he did in high school. The red flush is the same too. “I do try. And what about you? Bail bonds, you said?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not a dream job by any stretch, but they were hiring when my ex and I first moved to Boston, close enough for me to walk to work, and I’ve kind of just stayed. It’s something I’m good at, as it turns out - a little bit of research and a little undercover work and a lot of being willing to chase down people doing their best to get away from you. It’s a living. The money can be good, if sporadic,” she shrugs. “One of the biggest appeals of the deputy position here, though, besides coming home, is the steady paycheck. I don’t know. Moving is hard, but it’s very tempting.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d be a brilliant deputy,” Killian smiles. As Emma stares back, the anticipatory silence falls again, but this time, she’s almost ready for it. With a few more seconds, maybe she could make a move, and it wouldn’t truly hurt to shift an inch closer…

“Emma, there you are!” Mary Margaret’s voice calls, shattering the intimacy of the moment. “David’s about to do his speech, and you wouldn’t want to —” she cuts off abruptly when she sees Emma’s not alone. “Oh, hello, Killian! I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all,” Killian smiles. Meanwhile, Emma wants to scream  _ Yes!  _ back at her friend. Timing has never been her strong suit. “Go ahead and get David all set up, we’ll be right behind you.”

As Mary Margaret scurries off again, Killian hoists himself to his feet before offering Emma a hand of assistance - one she’s only too happy to accept. God, his hand is just the perfect balance between soft and callused, the hands of a man who might not work with his hands (so to speak) every day, but might have a hobby where he gets to. She’ll have to ask. “Well, Swan? Shall we go see what our erstwhile class president has to say?”

“Lead on.” It’s probably best that they were interrupted, anyways. This is just one night, after all. 

———

Poor David - he’s never been much for public speaking. Emma will never understand why they needed a speech at this thing in the first place, let alone why Mary Margaret couldn’t have just made the remarks instead as the organizer of this whole thing. 

Still, somehow they make it through, even if David’s practically swimming in sweat by the time he exits the stage. That suit jacket is definitely going to need a trip to the cleaner. Emma manages to park herself close to the dessert table while the whole spectacle unfolds, sampling all the little bars and cookies and cupcakes while everyone else is distracted. She’ll have to thank David for that later.

She’s just reaching for a cookies and cream cupcake - she can’t quite remember who opened a bakery, but God bless them for it - when Killian appears by her side again.

“Might I steal you for a dance, Swan?” he asks. “I have it on good authority that they’re about to play a slow song.”

Emma laughs. “You bribed Mary Margaret, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shamelessly. So what do you say, Swan?” He offers his hand.

Maybe she should think about it more. Maybe it’s committing to something she’ll regret later. But for now, Emma takes his hand without hesitation. “Yeah. Let’s dance.”

There’s a little section of floor left open as if just for them, allowing Killian to lead her around to face him. Emma can’t help but chuckle as they come together, twining arms around necks and waists like any respectable high schooler faced with a slow song. And what a song it is: three beat time, Paramore. The soundtrack of her most fanciful imaginings way back when. Perfect.

“What are you giggling about?” he teases. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost say there’s affection in his voice.

“Nothing. It’s kind of stupid.” Still, Killian watches until she continues, until she caves. “It’s just… I used to dream about this, you know? My own personal fantasy - and not like that, don’t even start with the eyebrows,” she warns. “But… even if I tried not to show it and even if I believed that love wasn’t in the cards for me, there was still a little bit of me that  _ wanted _ . I’d imagine a moment, just like this. It’d be like a movie. We’d be dancing at prom or winter formal or something, and the whole world would melt away. I’m pretty sure I choreographed the camera movements in my head. And then, at the end… there’d be a moment. We’d kiss. And it would be my first kiss, and it’d be  _ perfect _ .” Emma laughs just hearing herself. It’s almost disgustingly romantic, really. “Pretty silly, honestly.”

“I don’t know, Swan. I think it sounds nice.” He takes a moment to carefully twirl her underneath his arm, followed by a few moments of silence once they’ve floated back together again. “We still could, you know. Make that fantasy happen.”

Emma snorts a laugh, even as a huge part of her heart  _ yearns _ , practically pulling towards his. “I’ve got a kid, Jones. Trust me, the first kiss boat has long since sailed.”

Killian smiles down at her with those calm, kind eyes she fell in love with a decade ago. There’s no denying that she’s still held in their thrall all these years later. “Maybe so. But we could still have  _ our _ first kiss.”

The words hang in the air between them, full of hope. Still, Emma knows he won’t make a move unless she’s right there with him. “I’m not that girl anymore,” she tells him - warns him, against everything her heart is screaming. “I’ve changed a lot since high school.”

“I know.”

“And even with that… you’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure. We’ve both changed, but all I know is that you’ve become even more lovely and enchanting in that time, and I’d be honored to kiss you to the greatest hits of 2009 and 2010.”

“I think Mary Margaret included some stuff from before then too,” Emma replies, stalling for time.

“Ah, well, that’s almost a dealbreaker, but I suppose I’d be willing to kiss you to the greatest hits pre-2009 as well,” Killian teases. “If you want me to, that is.”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? It’s a thin, fragile line between wanting something so badly and being afraid to just reach out and take it, especially when you’re given the chance to do just that. 

“I’m afraid,” she finally admits. “I can’t tell you that I’m moving home. I don’t even know that. And what if I don’t? Is this just a fling from the old days? Some belated wish fulfillment? A one time thing?”

“I hope not,” Killian replies calmly. “ I hope this is more than just two people giving into an old crush and never seeing each other again. I know that I wanted you then, and I wanted you for a long time after we went our separate ways, and I wanted you again when I spotted you from across the room tonight. Do I hope that you’ll decide to move back to Storybrooke? Yes. But only if it makes you  _ happy _ . And if you decide that you’ll be happier in Boston, that you and your boy belong there… well, I suppose I’ll have to start looking for date night spots in the city, because I want more than just this one kiss, and I’m willing to fight for it. But that all depends on whether  _ you _ want that too.” As her silence persists, Emma searching for her courage and her words, Killian’s face drops into a twist of uncertainty. It’s not a look Emma’s used to seeing on his face, and she doesn’t particularly like it. At all. “Would you like that?” he asks softly, the uncertainty even coloring his tone.

“ _ Yes _ .” Emma only whispers it, but stares into his eyes intently all the while. Hopefully that can convince him of her sincerity, even if her words can’t. When she tries to speak up, it only comes out in a jumble anyways. “I… yeah. Yeah, I would.”

His answering smile seems to spread from the very center of him, blooming across his face slowly like the most delicate flower. Maybe a water lily; that seems fitting, somehow. “In that case…” His hand travels from where it had rested on her waist to cup her cheek instead. “May I?”

Emma barely takes the time to nod before she’s pressing up that last half inch in her heels to capture his lips within her own. 

The thing about imagining what a kiss might be like for so long is that you’ve run it so many times in your head at a certain point that the real thing is never going to live up to everything you imagined. What’s even better is that this kiss, this particular realization of all that longing? It doesn’t need to live up to anything, instead a perfect expression all its own. That little romantic voice still hiding deep inside Emma wants to call it a fairytale dream come true; the rest of her is more than happy to just savor the moment as it shifts from teasing, exploratory brushes of her lips against his to something deeper and more determined. Her arms wind fully around his neck and his more tightly around her waist, leaving them twined together as tongues begin to seek and probe and stroke. For a moment, it’s like they’re the only two people in the world - like some kind of teenaged dream, if she can ever be forgiven for such an awful, topical joke.

When they finally separate, it’s only by scant inches, bodies still pressed together and foreheads touching with only space left for their mouths to gasp for air.

“That was…” she starts, unsure frankly how to finish. There’s still not nearly enough oxygen reaching her brain to properly think, her body and all its functions far more interested in diving back in for more than any stupid thinking. Or talking. Or… anything, really.

Thankfully, Killian is there to pick up where her words fail. “Bloody earth-shattering.” Even if Emma can’t see his goofy grin with her eyes still closed, she can still hear it in his voice. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it definitely was.” Somewhere in the middle of their dance floor makeout, the song has changed to something more upbeat - a dance tune that Emma doesn’t recognize, but knows Mary Margaret would insist was absolutely definitely played at every school dance when they were in high school. She doesn’t really want this to end - doesn’t want it at all, in fact - but it’s probably about time they stopped standing in the middle of the floor. With great reluctance, she unwinds her arms from his neck and steps back, but makes sure to meet Killian’s gaze with a smirk. “So. You mentioned a date? Where are you taking me?”

Killian laughs before moving to dig in an inner jacket pocket, ultimately producing a flask. “Well, for the moment, what do you say to a drink? I think I see some glasses of punch over there just waiting to be spiked.”

“It’s a date.”

And if she has anything to say about it, the first of many.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on tumblr, where I'm @shireness-says.
> 
> Thanks for reading - I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!


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